Beneath the lash, english version
by Michelle Mercy
Summary: A Toulon-story, a prison uprising in the Bagne – Javert and Valjean, in the middle, now in an English translation by smaller


**"Beneath the lash"**

by Michelle Mercy

_A Toulon-story, a prison uprising in the Bagne –_

_Javert and Valjean, in the middle_

_The guys belong to Hugo, and to each other before long, the rest are mine._

_Author's note:_

_I swore I would never write a Toulon story. Here it is!_

There were thirteen years of imprisonment at Toulon and four unsuccessful escape attempts behind Jean Valjean when he decided to learn to read.

The brothers of the Order of Ignorantin made this offer every Sunday after Mass. It was not very well-attended because most prisoners were glad to get a free day on which they could recover from the inhumanly hard labor. To exert their minds on that day as well cost them too much effort. There were few who attended the classes and took them to the end. Many came once or twice and then gave up. There were only a dozen convicts who took the lessons seriously and appeared for study every Sunday, even after several months.

Jean Valjean was one of them. He had to admit that the most his escape attempts had brought him were a few days of freedom and extensions of his sentence by at least three years. So he was now determined to simply wait until the end of his sentence. What were another six years, compared to the past thirteen? But the emptiness that he had formerly used for the planning of escape attempts now had to be filled in some other way. Why not to try to learn to read? Perhaps it could be useful after his release; now in any case, it passed the time.

Valjean's brain, not used to learning, had difficulty at first. Things moved very slowly, and he believed that the mysterious characters would never fit together as something meaningful, when suddenly it was as if all at once a mysterious force decided that he had puzzled long enough, and he was able to read a simple text.

From that day on, Valjean was a model student. He literally inhaled every text that the teacher, Frère André, had them read. At the same time as his knowledge increased, so increased his hatred for everything and everyone. Why was it that this world of knowledge had been withheld from him? If he had had the opportunity to learn as a child, he was convinced he would not have ended up where he was today.

One of his fellow prisoners, also a regular visitor to the classroom, Joseph Clery, Prisoner No. 24602, called "the princess", once remarked that Valjean had the makings of greater things, if only he would turn that senseless hatred into something productive, but Valjean ignored it, as he generally ignored Clery.

It was Valjean's fifteenth year in Toulon when two new prisoners joined the classes: Emile Bousset, a murderer who had managed to escape the death penalty, and Jerome Odeillo, a cattle thief. He would not have liked to meet either of them at night in a deserted street, and even in prison are some inmates with whom the others want no trouble, or want them as far away as possible. No one knew the reason why these two were just learning to read.

"Jean, I do not like the two of them," said Clery to Valjean, with whom he went along on the same chain, on the way to class, "They will cause trouble."

With an indifferent eye that said, "What is that to me?" Valjean took note of this. The intrusive nature of the princess was getting on his nerves.

On that day, maybe fifteen prisoners were in class, some as advanced as Valjean and Clery, but also beginners, which made teaching a challenge for Frère André, the nervous little monk.

As usual, three guards were present; more did not seem necessary for supervising prisoners chained together in groups of two or three. The guard Javert was the most senior of the three. He had been at Toulon only a few years, and had already become one of the superintendents through dedicated hard work and careful attention to the rules. He regarded the supervision of the lessons as a waste of time, not that he was of the opinion that the prisoners should not be supervised, on the contrary, but because it was quite unnecessary that they were being taught at all. What sense was there in teaching people to read who would end up in the Bagne again sooner or later anyway?

In general, Javert had little interest in the prisoners in the Bagne. He did his job, as was his duty, and he did it well, as was his nature, but he did not consider it the end of his career. He dreamed of becoming an inspector before he was forty, and for the end of his term he had already applied to the police. His service in Toulon would easily compensate for the taint of his origin.

That Sunday began just like many before. The prisoners learned while Frère André taught in a monotonous voice, and the three guards patrolled bored through the aisles between the tables.

Without any warning, Odeillo and Bousset jumped up as a guard passed by, threw the chain of their fetters around his neck and snatched his rifle. Odeillo aimed and shot the second guard. Bousset reached for Frère André and pressed a knife made from a spoon to the monk's throat. At the same time the chain between the convicts strangled the first guard.

It all happened very quickly, but from the other side of the room Javert managed to get his weapon at the ready before the guard who was shot had fallen to the ground. He didn't manage to pull the trigger, because at that moment other prisoners joined in the uprising. One of them tore the barrel of Javert's gun to the side, and two rushed him from behind. After a short, violent resistance, the three brought Javert to the floor and beat on him.

Those prisoners who had not yet participated in the uprising jumped up and cheered. Only two prisoners were quiet in their seats, Clery, who was watching all this with great interest, and Valjean, who was staring with intent concentration at his blank slate. Under no circumstances would the latter become involved in a fruitless rebellion which would, at best, lead to a lengthening of his sentence.

Javert was on the ground and made no sound. To admit that he was suffering pain would have spurred the attackers on even more. He merely tried to protect himself from violent blows in the most sensitive places; otherwise he could do nothing.

Outside they could hear the guard roused by those who had been alerted by the shot. The three assailants ceased their maltreatment of Javert and looked uncertainly at Bousset.

"We're getting out of here," he said with conviction. "First, let's get these chains off again."

"And how will you professionals manage that?" From a corner suddenly came a voice. Jean Valjean had struggled for several minutes with himself, whether to intervene, but what other option did he have? If it was not possible to end this disaster of an uprising bloodlessly, they would all die, either when the guards stormed the classroom, or sentenced to death as insurgents. And he did not want to die, not after surviving fifteen years in Toulon, with only four left to endure.

"Who are you?" asked Bousset.

"This is Jean, the king of escape," Clery chimed in, whose situation was as precarious as Valjean's, as he had only one year left. "He has managed to escape from here four times, and was brought back after a few days each time."

"And why should we not get rid of the chains? We have three guards, one will have a key."

"Look, that short-sightedness will get us all killed." For the first time, Valjean lifted his head and looked at the insurgents. "None of the three of them has a key. A safety precaution designed to prevent just such situations. The guards on duty here leave their keys with the Director."

Javert could feel as two of the prisoners holding him on the floor frantically searched his pockets. The prisoner with the number 24601 was absolutely right. Nor would they find keys on the corpses of the other two guards.

Bousset watched the fruitless search for a key. "Any more clever objections?" he asked as he felt his hopes dashed and floating away with Valjean's easy undermining of his authority.

"Oh, several. For example, you want to get out of here? The building is surrounded. You have three rifles, with maybe ten shots and a few clubs, oh, and let's not forget the homemade knife. So you may get as far as the door."

"And what do you suggest, old man?"

"Surrender, at least a few of us still have a chance to escape the gallows."

"Oh, and Jerome and I happily hang? Not a good proposal." Bousset thought for a moment. "We've got the monk and the guard."

Valjean cast a contemptuous look at Javert and Frère André. "Lovely hostages. Do you think they really care about the life of a priest? And they have plenty of guards."

Javert sat up and watched the scene closely. This 24601 was good, even when he was only trying to save his neck. Not that Javert seriously believed that the prisoners were capable of reason, but at least it made them uneasy, which might give him a chance of escape. He looked around. There was the door, behind which the guards were probably stationed to shoot everything that left the room. He had no illusions that his colleagues would distinguish between a guard, a monk, or a convict.

Then there was the window above the table where Valjean sat, two meters above the ground, barely more than an arrow slit. There, on the other side of the wall, maybe two or three guards would stand who could easily wait until someone had forced their way through and jumped to the ground, and then take them into custody.

No, the only path out led through the window. And that was safety only for Frère André, as Javert's paramount duty was now to protect the life of the monk. His colleagues would restore law and order again.

"I think the man is right," said Javert, and noted that 24601 looked at him directly for the first time. "But you should send the monk to them. He can deliver your demands. Sitting in here and waiting will hardly get you out of here."

"That sounds reasonable," added Valjean. "They will see it as a sign of good will and maybe at least listen before they execute all of us."

"We have demands?" Odeillo naively asked, which clarified that he was obviously not the brains of the rebellious duo.

"Oh, God," Valjean moaned desperately over this amateurism. "But you must want something."

"We want to get out of here."

"Which is obvious even to me." Valjean's patience was at an end.

"Horses," Bousset thought aloud, "Money, papers to cross the border. And the key for those damn chains."

"How many horses?" said Javert. Would it really be possible to get the monk out of the room?

"Fifteen of course."

"Fourteen," Valjean corrected. "I do not mean to participate in this madness."

"Thirteen," Clery said.

"No, fourteen," said Bousset, "we have to take the overseer."

"Of course, fourteen." Javert nodded. "Anything else?"

Bousset shook his head mutely.

"You should let the monk out through the window," Javert went on." The guards will shoot if someone opens the door."

"Go," Bousset pushed Frère André across to Valjean, "lift the monk up to the window." At least this convict was intelligent enough to know that Javert was telling the truth and a way out through the door was not possible.

Javert watched as 24601 lifted the frail monk to the window. This was done with incredible ease, without any effort. Oh, yes, Javert recalled, 24601 was not only a notorious escapee, but was also known for his incredible strength.

Clery followed Valjean like a dog on his master's leash; he had little other choice, because the chain still linked their wrists and ankles. They both returned to their bench, where Valjean sat down, Clery automatically moving with him.

Javert remained half sitting, half lying on the floor. It was only a matter of time until the room was taken by storm. Only the presence of the monk had prevented this so far. But now he was gone, and could also inform the guard about the convicts' insufficient weapons. They could only wait for the storm.

Bousset, with Odeillo in his wake, walked over to Javert. In his hand he had the baton. "I've always wanted to try this thing." With a violent movement, he brought it crashing down on Javert, first once, then several more times.

Javert did not allow himself even a tiny twitch, but took the blows with outward indifference.  
The glance which Valjean cast on the scene held grudging admiration for the guard, who steadfastly refused to show weakness. "If you beat him to a pulp, he'll be a damn annoying hostage," he said, with exaggerated boredom. "It'll cost you time if he falls out of the saddle."

Bousset paused in mid-motion. "You're incredibly lucky that the old man is right."

Javert raised his head and glanced over at Valjean. This prisoner was a mystery to him. He managed to rein in Bousset each time he started doing something crazy, but otherwise took no active role. He did only as much as was necessary in order to not let things escalate.

At the same moment Valjean turned his head and looked at Javert. Their gazes locked for almost a minute, neither of them able to break eye contact. Then Javert made the effort to get to his feet. With a short, cautionary, almost imperceptible shake of his head Valjean tried to stop him, but Javert replied with an almost defiant nod, which indicated that he did not agree.

Bousset already had the rifle in his hand before Javert was entirely on his feet. "Sit down again immediately," he said. "Otherwise I'm gonna have to hurt you in very painful places."

"The gun will misfire," Javert replied very quietly.

"Want to take the chance?" Bousset asked sarcastically.

"Yes," Javert simply replied.

"The man is completely mad," muttered Clery in Valjean's direction.

"But he seems to know what he's doing," whispered Valjean, intrigued against his will.

"Well, since you insist." Bousset pulled the trigger.

Valjean closed his eyes. He did not want to watch as this daring warden was shot like a dog.

A moment later he opened his eyes again, when the gun had merely made a click. Bousset stared in bewilderment at the gun in his hand, and Javert's mouth had twisted into a superior smirk. "I told you."

Bousset reached behind him for one of the other two guns, while the other insurgents watched with unease.

In the same moment that Bousset again took aim at Javert, several things happened simultaneously. Unnoticed by all other parties except for Javert, the barrel of a gun was shoved through the window and fired a shot at Bousset, who froze and dropped unseeing to the ground in a single motion.

With great presence of mind Valjean upended the table at which he and Clery sat, and together with the latter withdrew behind it for cover. Only a split second later Javert let himself fall to the ground between the two men.

Almost at the same moment the door flew off its hinges, hit by a battering ram; numerous shots lashed the screaming insurgents, and over all was a great cloud of smoke and dust.

When this had cleared a little, the result of the storming of the classroom was visible. Five men, including Bousset, had not survived the assault, four were wounded, Odeillo was on the ground, and four more huddled together in the corner with their hands up.

Very slowly, and with hands raised high in the air, Javert stood. There was still the chance that the other guards, even now that it was all over, might accidentally shoot him. Only when one of the other superintendents nodded did he lower his hands. "Here are two more," said Javert, pointing to the table. "Get up already," he ordered the two prisoners, beside whom he had taken cover for a few moments.

Valjean and Clery came to their feet. Rifles were pointed at the additional survivors. "We survived, St. Mary Magdalene, we are alive," whispered Clery.

"For now," returned Valjean grimly. "The Naval Court will see to it that we do not stay that way for long." He sought Javert's glance, but the other seemed occupied with brushing the dust off his uniform. Of course, it was simply too much to expect that the brief moment of understanding, partnership, even, would last after the danger was over. Undoubtedly he was going to end up on the scaffold, this time as innocent as one was able to be, merely for having been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Well, come on, move it," said one of the guards to the survivors. "You'll go in the hole first of all. Then we'll see what the court does with you."

They made their way to the "hole", the dark solitary confinement cells, and there Jean Valjean sat on the floor of that inhumane pit in the earth and stared into the darkness, to further harden his soul ...

XXX

"I have carefully read your report, Javert," said the prison director three days later, "and I'll write a special commendation for your prudence in dealing with the situation."

"Thank you, Monsieur le Directeur." Javert stood very straight in front of the director's desk.

"You spent a great deal of time describing the behavior of 24601 and 24602. Why?"

"Because that is how it happened. Ultimately I must present the truth in my report."

"And you are absolutely certain that the two did not participate in the uprising?"

"Absolutely. I think the two were smart enough to recognize immediately that the insurrection could end only in disaster. They saw clearly that trying to defuse the situation was the only way to leave the room alive."

"And as the only witness who is allowed to bear testimony and was present until the end, you would be willing to affirm so before the Naval Court?"

"Of course, Monsieur le Directeur."

The director sighed. "Then we should save the court time and effort and simply not write an indictment for those two only. Three days in the hole will have to do as a warning. Make sure that both return to their work."

"Yes, Monsieur le Directeur." Javert went to the individual cells. He first ordered Clery out of his hole, then he let open Valjean's cell. Valjean, emerging from the darkness, simultaneously managed to squint in the unaccustomed light and look at him hatefully.

"Back to work, you two," ordered Javert, looking almost through them, just as he did with all prisoners. Everyday life in Toulon had returned, and nothing had changed.


End file.
